Everlasting Darkness
by If Love Were Flowers
Summary: What if Firestar had died in the battle between LionClan and BloodClan? What if the forest belonged to Scourge? And what if he took an apprentice from someone left behind? A Rainwhisker Centric
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Everlasting Darkness**

**Author: If Love Were Flowers**

**Genre: Adventure/Drama**

**Summary: What if Firestar had died in the battle between LionClan and BloodClan? What if Scourge took control of the forest and made it his, and what if he took someone left behind as his apprentice? Scorn is the heir of the darkest clan in the forest. And to take total control he will kill anything and anyone. Even his own brother.**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

A shutter jerked Firestar back into the world of the living. Around him, the battle between LionClan and BloodClan raged, his ears filled with hisses and spits, yowls of pain and triumph, and claws cutting through fur. Nearby, his nephew, Cloudtail, struggled to keep hold of the small BloodClan leader, Scourge, digging his teeth into the small cat's leg. Scourge slashed his claws down the pale tom's side, icy blue eyes glittering in delight as blood sprayed out, staining the younger tom's pelt.

"Scourge!" snarled Firestar, staggering to his feet, "Turn and face me!"

Scourge whipped around, forgetting Cloudtail was digging into his leg and facing Firestar, shock spread across his face, "How… I _killed _you."

"You did," spat Firestar, the fur along his spine beginning to bristle defiantly, "but I am a leader with nine lives who fights alongside StarClan. Can you say as much?"

Scourge hesitated, but only for a moment. With a snarl he grabbed Cloudtail's scruff, hurling him through the air with amazing strength and smashing him against the Great Rock. He turned back to Firestar, flexing his reinforced claws.

Firestar launched himself at Scourge with all the speed he could muster. He felt power coursing through his veins, felt the brush of wind along his fur, the earth beneath his claws, felt the determination of every cat behind him, felt his prophecy rearing overhead, preparing to be fulfilled. He slashed at Scourge, scoring his claws down the side of the BloodClan leader and narrowly avoiding a fatal blow.

Firestar stumbled backwards, preparing to lunge back into the fight when a blur of darkness caught his eyes. Scourge was fast, faster then Firestar could've imagined, and stronger, with a snarl he smashed his paw into the side of Firestar's head, sending him toppling sideways, one of his legs crumpling awkwardly beneath him and a sickening crack filling the air. Firestar let out a yowl, his leg burned, and he could not move, his green eyes opened wide with terror as he watched Scourge leap back at him, teeth aimed strait for his throat.

Cries of shock filled the air, and from nearby the slim form of a pale ginger she-cat broke away from battle, letting out a pained wail at the sight of Scourge digging his teeth into Firestar's throat. Firestar let out a loose gurgle, blood bubbling from his mouth, coughing it onto the ground, his green eyes starting to fade.

The form of a black-and-white tom barreled into the side of the ginger she-cat, Sandstorm, amber eyes vivid and hot. It was Bone, the deputy of Scourge, who had survived the mauling of the apprentices. He grinned maniacally, blood dripping from a shallow wound in his neck, splattering across his chest and paws. With a snarl, he lunged towards Sandstorm as she struggled to her paws, raking his long claws down the side of her face and shoving her sideways.

"Firestar!" wailed Sandstorm, eyes burning as she watched the fire-colored tom jerk again as he came back to life, and then spit up more blood from the terrible wound in his neck. Scourge dug his teeth harder into the leader's neck, determined to kill him. Staggering up from the side of Great Rock, Cloudtail rushed towards Scourge in an attempt to knock him away, but a russet-colored BloodClan warrior blocked his path, easily knocking the weakened warrior down.

Firestar's body continued to die, and every time he lost a life, he stayed dead for a little bit longer. The cats around him held their breath, waiting, hoping, praying to their ancestors that he would live, that he would survive, that their forest would be saved. But, with a final, ragged gasp for breath and longing look towards Sandstorm, Firestar closed his eyes, never to open them again.

Scourge took a step backwards, releasing Firestar's neck and letting it fall to the ground. He took a careful step backwards, as if unsure whether or not Firestar would stay dead this time. After a few moments, a grin spread across the small leader's face, his blue eyes widened, glowed, and he threw back his head, letting out a hysterical cackle heard by every cat in that clearing. A laugh so full of evil, so full of darkness and the pleasure of killing that it sent shivers down the spine of every warrior.

Bone narrowed his amber eyes, a small smirk playing on his face as Scourge turned around to him, blue eyes glittering, he hissed, "Kill them all."

Bone threw back his head and let out a cry. (Which was more like a dog howl then an actual yowl.) Around him, the cats of BloodClan did the same, and the cats of the forest stopped fighting, confused and disoriented. And that's when the end began. BloodClan tore through the ranks, slashing at throats, throwing down and biting into flanks and bellies. It was more of a massacre than an actual fight. Spurred by the death of the flame-colored leader, the BloodClan cats fought with twice their usual strength, easily driving back the terrified forest cats.

"Sandstorm!" a gray shape blurred as it leaped to her side through the air, ramming into the side of the black-and-white tom, Bone, who was pinning her down, Graystripe arrived on the scene. Bone hissed, jumping back to his paws and leaping at Graystripe, only to have Bramblepaw jump between them, trying to drive the much-bigger tom away.

"We have to get back to the camp," gasped Graystripe, helping Sandstorm to her paws, "The elders and kits are ready to run. We have to go now before BloodClan follows us and ambushes them before they can escape."

"But what about the apprentices? The rest of the warriors?" demanded Sandstorm, "What about Cinderpelt and Fernpaw and-" she was cut off by a wail from Bramblepaw, the apprentice had had his throat slashed open like so many others and was now bleeding out. Graystripe pushed her with his head, and when she hesitated, pushed her harder.

"If they're determined enough, they'll be able to find us," growled Graystripe, "Now, move!" Sandstorm turned away from the fighting, slipping into the thorn bushes surrounding Fourtrees and darting up the slope into ThunderClan territory. They didn't know that two ice-blue eyes were following their every paw step, and had overheard every word that had come out of their mouth.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Sandstorm panted, her flanks were stinging, her paws ached, but Graystripe urged her forward. Glancing back at the gray warrior, she felt a pang of guilt; Graystripe had much worse injuries then herself, and yet she was the one giving in to stopping. It must've been twice as hard for him to leave the battle – Stormpaw and Featherpaw, his kits, were still back there, dead or dying.

"We're almost there," Graystripe rasped, the two of them had reached the ravine heading into the heart of their camp, and relief poured through them when they realized that the stench of BloodClan was far behind them. At the entrance of the camp, Willowpelt, who had been sitting guard, stood up, her dark blue eyes filled with worry at the sight of the exhausted and battered warriors.

"Where's Firestar?" she asked, her voice cracked with worry, "Where's… where's Whitestorm?" Graystripe hurried past her, ignoring her question, and her blue gaze turned to Sandstorm, begging her to answer. Sandstorm hesitated, then slowly lowered her eyes and shook her head. Willowpelt let out a small wail, sinking to the forest floor and burying her nose in her paws.

Sandstorm let out a sigh, hurrying past Willowpelt and to the elder's den where Speckletail was shooing the elders out. One-Eye growled darkly, exiting first, and was soon followed by Smallear and Dappletail.

"We're all here," growled Speckletail in her raspy voice, "Where's Graystripe?"

"Here," the gray deputy called from the nursery where he had gone to fetched Willowpelt's three kits, Rainkit, Sootkit, and Sorrelkit. Sootkit let out a small wail, shuffling his paws and uncertain of what was going on. Roused by her son's distress, Willowpelt composed herself, hurrying back to the small, pale gray tom and picked him up, soothing him with a gentle lick to the forehead.

"We should head away from the Thunderpath," Graystripe meowed, "Towards the Twolegplace; we can find shelter there until we decide what to do next. We might even be able to hide there until Scourge settles down." He picked up Rainkit in his mouth, much to the tiny kit's displeasure, and flicked his tail, signaling for the cats to follow him. Willowpelt followed quickly after him, scooping up Sootkit in her jaws and bounding after him. Speckletail followed with Sorrelkit, and Sandstorm allowed One-Eye, Smallear, and Dappletail to go before her, taking up the rear.

The small band of ThunderClan warriors, three kits, four elders, and three warriors, rushed through their forest, on a well-worn trail that led straight to the Twolegplace. The forest that had been their home for countless seasons, which had seemed as familiar to them as their pelt color, now seemed darkened. Each shadow seemed to hide the claws of a BloodClan warrior, each bird call was a warning that they were coming.

"We're almost there," breathed Sandstorm, growing hopeful as the wooden fence of Twolegplace came into view. But her relief was spoiled when a dark shape hurled out of the shadows of one of the nearby ferns, tackling Speckletail and forcing her out of view with Sorrelkit still clamped firmly in her mouth. There was a squeal of a kit – Sorrelkit, and Graystripe whirled around, shocked look filling his eyes.

"BloodClan warriors," she whispered, "They've found us."

Panic quickly filled every cats mind, Sandstorm quickly waved her tail, motioning for them to move forward, but Willowpelt took a step to where her daughter and friend had vanished. A gentle nose nudged her shoulder.

"They would've wanted you to live," he hissed, "Go," Willowpelt hesitated and Graystripe raised his voice, "Go!" She turned, Sootkit wiggling in her grasp, and ran after the others. Graystripe set Rainkit down for a moment, re-adjusting his grip, when Sandstorm called out to him.

"Graystripe, they're coming!" she cried. Glancing behind himself for less than a heartbeat and seeing the dark figures between the ferns, Graystripe took off, narrowly avoiding the claws of the warrior who took Speckletail and Sorrelkit's life.

And suddenly the forest was foreign territory. Suddenly, the BloodClan warriors were the hunters, and they were the prey, and the only thing separating the hunters and the hunted was the desperation to keep alive. Ahead of him, he could make out Willowpelt scrambling over the fence, not too far ahead while Sandstorm helped Smallear and One-Eye.

Graystripe slid to a halt, dropping Rainkit promptly and giving Smallear a proper shove to clear the fence. Sandstorm gave One-Eye a shove as well, and then turned to where Graystripe had collapsed against the fence, his wounds re-opening. Behind them the shapes of BloodClan cats started appear through the bracken.

"Go!" hissed Sandstorm, and then she added, "I'll get Rainkit." Graystripe nodded, turning back to the fence and scrambling up the side, vanishing over the top. But instead of turning to pick up Rainkit, Sandstorm whirled around, her green eyes flaring. Rainkit mewled, pressing himself against the fence behind her, and Sandstorm bared her teeth, "This is for Firestar."

And she left to join her mate.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

On the opposite side of the fence, Graystripe trembled, every long fur on his body bristling, fear filled the eyes of every cat behind the fence, from the last remaining kit to the oldest elder. Willowpelts' eyes opened wide, dropping Sootkit between her paws; she let out a small cry as Sorrelkit and Rainkit vanished from her life. Graystripe growled, digging his claws into the grass of the garden and narrowing his eyes.

"We will survive," he hissed, eyes burning, "We will not die out like embers. We will rekindle our Clan, and, someday, blaze like the wildfire in the hearts of our leaders." He looked over, up to the top of the fence, "Do you hear me, Scourge? Do you hear me, BloodClan? We will never die!"

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

"Brave words," growled Scourge, the sadistic grin still on his face, he turned from the Sandstorms' body, back towards Fourtrees when a pitiful mewl rose in the air. Scourge froze, and every cat along with him did as well. A single thought raced through every mind – was Scourge cold enough to kill even a helpless kit?

Slowly, very slowly, Scourge turned around, his ice-blue eyes fixed at a bundle of dark gray fur near Sandstorm. The kit was big – almost five moons old, with eyes dark blue and big paws. His ears flattened against his skull as Scourge neared him, and, even for his small size, the BloodClan leader towered over the kit. Scourge smirked, narrowing his cold eyes.

"You're a little coward, aren't you?" he meowed, and Rainkit fluffed up his fur in fear. Scourge could hear the little heart in his chest beating wildly, like the paws of a darting rabbit, hard against the springy turf of the moorlands. He narrowed his eyes, turning away from the kit, "Tell me, little one, are you strong?"

The kit froze, confused at the question he was being asked. Scourge turned around, ice blue eyes hypnotic, "I'll ask that again, little kit, are you strong? Are you the strongest in your… 'Clan'? Is there no one in the world who is stronger then you?"

"N…no…" whispered Rainkit, looking down at his paws, "Graystripe was stronger than me. And Sootkit and Bramblepaw an… and everyone…"

"Do you want to be strong?" whispered Scourge, "Do you want to be stronger than anyone? The strongest in any 'Clan'?"

"Yes," Rainkit looked up, his dark blue eyes suddenly alive and warm, "I want to be stronger than anything! I want to be stronger then foxes and badgers and dogs and the sun and the moon and the clouds and-"

"Then come with me," whispered Scourge, his blue eyes glittered sharply, almost unnaturally, "In my old home, far from the streets of the Twolegplace, there was a saying among my family. That those born with pelts as dark as night and eyes the color of water would be destined for great things. Do you, little kit, have a destiny? Or will you fade away to nothing but a shadow and a pile of ashes?"

"I want to have a destiny," Rainkit stood up defiantly and added, "Will you give me one? Will you give me power?"

"I'll give you all the power you want and more, little kit," Scourge cooed. Rainkit looked at his paws and then nodded.

"Alright then, I'll come with you." He took a step towards Scourge, and the black tom smirked again.

"Tell me, little kit, what is your name?"

"Rainkit."

"Rainkit? That doesn't seem to suit you."

"R-really?"

"Yes… I think you should have a better name."

"What name would that be?"

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

**Kudos to Ziro for editting my chapters. You rock.**


	2. Chapter 2

****

**Title: Everlasting Darkness**

**Author: If Love Were Flowers**

**Genre: Adventure/Drama**

**Summary: What if Firestar had died in the battle between LionClan and BloodClan? What if Scourge took control of the forest and made it his, and what if he took someone left behind as his apprentice? Scorn is the heir of the darkest clan in the forest. And to take total control he will kill anything and anyone. Even his own brother.**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Rain fell from the sky, turning the landscape around the Great Rock even more dark and foreboding then it usually was. The thorn bushes protecting the clearing had grown thick and wild, curling up the dip in the land and creating a well-protected fortress. Over the seasons, countless claws had been worn against the Great Rock, turning the smooth boulder's rough, jagged edges outlined in shadows and quicksilver from the moonlight.

In full view of the moon, a large maw opened up at the base of the Great Rock, an opening to an underground network of tunnels only the strongest cats could enter. It was a mess of shadows, a cobweb of caves, but over time, one would easily be able to find their way around, whether by memory or by the narrow halls brushing their whiskers.

Outside of the Great Rock tunnels, crouched against the rough surface for protection from the rain were two bulky figures, that of a spiky-haired black-and-white tom and a skinny, sinewy golden tom. The spiky tom growled, and a raindrop hit his ear, and he flicked it irritably, accidentally spraying his companion with water. The golden tom let out a hiss of disgust, pulling back and bristling.

"Watch what you're doing!" he spat, rubbing his paw on his face, "By the dead, I swear you're as incompetent as a kit," the spiky black-and-white tom growled, turning his sharp amber eyes toward the golden tom.

"Is that a challenge?" he growled, the fur along his spine bristling as he got to his feet stiffly. The golden tom leapt up as well, skinny tail stuck straight up in the air.

"It might be if you don't apologize," the golden tom snarled. Both toms hissed, unsheathing their claws and sinking them into the wet ground, preparing for the tension to break and for their opponent to make the first move. Neither one wanted to be the start of a fight, but neither one was going to back down either.

All yellow eyes in the thorn bushes turned to the two toms, all eyes peeked with interest, curious at what would happen next.

"Is there a problem here?" A third voice entered the picture, and the two toms froze, the fire rushing through their veins turning to ice in a less then a heartbeat. A dark figure emerged from the tunnel entrance, flicking his long tail with interest and eyes glittering in curiosity.

The spiky black-and-white tom pulled back first, his pricked fur flattening as he stepped into the rain. The golden tom did likewise, flattening his ears and pulling his tail between his legs.

The new figure smirked, puffing a small breath of cold amusement, and meowed, "That's what I thought. If you have nothing better to do then bicker like a pair of blackbirds, go out and fetch two or three slaves, a couple of the dens need cleaning, and we need prey distributed. Go now, and no arguing, or I'll open your throats so you _can't_ argue."

"Yes, Your Darkness," mumbled the skinny tom, The spiky tom, however, said nothing, but narrowed his eyes.

"Are you challenging me?" Scorn almost laughed. "You? It would be like killing a moment-old kit. You can't beat me. And do you know why?" Scorns' figure vanished suddenly, and in the next moment, he appeared behind the black-and-white tom, whispering into his ear, "Because I cannot lose."

The spiky tom whirled, confused, but Scorn has vanished again, re-appearing where he had been standing before. The spiky tom hesitated, and then bowed his head and whispered, "Yes, Your Darkness," under his breath. He turned and left with the skinny tom.

Scorn watched them leave, his eyes cold and bright.

The seasons had turned Scorn into a killer. His legs were long and strong, and, like Scourge, his claws were reinforced with dog teeth, and he had a collar of fox and dog teeth around his neck. His shoulders were strong and compact, and pale scars from battles scored down one side of his body. His pelt was dark gray, almost black, and, on a dark night like this one, indistinguishable from the sky. His eyes were dark blue and clear, reflecting the raw intelligence he possessed and deadly quick thinking.

Scorn cast his blue eyes around Fourtrees, his eyes darting about his surroundings. He remembered nothing of his former life, and frankly, he didn't care. In BloodClan, memories were weakness. The tender fondness of a warm mother's pelt, the giggles and games he played with his littermates, the stern-but-kind lectures his father gave him had all been shrugged off - as did his old name, Rainkit. He didn't have a past. All he had was the future. _His _future.

His destiny.

"You shouldn't break up fights like that," another cool voice came from the tunnels, "They're quite fun to watch." The bulky shape of Bone appeared from the tunnels. Scorn sniffed, vaguely acknowledging his comment. Bone knew Scorn was more powerful then him, and had taken up his unofficial position as deputy. He was growing old now. Around his dark muzzle, his fur was turning a silvery-gray color, and every morning he slept in just a little bit more.

"You're getting old," Scorn said quietly, "You should leave the forest before one of the younger cats gets their claws into your neck while you're sleeping." Bone sniffed, lying down in the entrance to the tunnels and crossing his paws in from of him with a small grunt.

"It's not like your Master is getting any younger either," Bone meowed darkly, "By the way, he was asking for you earlier tonight. He said you had to report to him by moonhigh which is…" He glanced up at the sky, "about now. You better hurry before he gets mad."

"Right," Scorn said, passing Bone and slipping into the tunnels.

"Hey, Scorn, why do you follow that old bat anyways?" The former deputy called after him. "You could easily kill him with your power right now."

Scorn paused, lowering his gaze for a moment, then jerked his eyes back up and, ignoring Bone, vanished into the tunnels.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

"It feels like I called for you many moons ago, Scorn," whispered Scourge in his airy voice. Memory had led Scorn deep into the darkness, through the many connections and forks, down narrow passages and through larger chambers. Scourge's den was in a hidden area, it was easy to pass, and very few knew where it was.

"You cannot tell the time from underground," Scorn replied smoothly. Despite his strongest urges, his fear-scent crept into the den, stirring Scourge. In the faint light, Scorn could see his Master's muzzle, like Bone's, was turning silver, as well as his paws and the tips of his ears. It was good Scourge stayed out of view, the Clan would easily rise against him if they knew he was aging.

"Silence," breathed Scourge angrily. "I didn't ask you to talk back. I need to know what's going on in the woods to the south of here, on the east side of the river. Yesterday, I received word that some weaklings were attacked by cats that smelt like those roaming the forest before we arrived. They are reported to be a resistance force, attempting to overturn the power and restore their four Clans."

"I have heard of them," Scorn meowed, "They call themselves the Originals, and claim that many of our slaves were once their comrades or kin." Scorn sniffed. "There can't be more than a kit litter of them. They're chasing a hopeless dream."

"That may be so," whispered Scourge, "but I want them taken care of at once. Take as many as you please, and don't come back until your pelt it stained from your nose to your tail in their blood. Drag back the bodies; I need to make sure they're dead with my own eyes."

"Be careful what you say," Scorn meowed softly and dangerously. "And, you know, if the others heard you, they may think you're quite paranoid."

Scourge let out a hiss and struck out faster then a snake. Scorn felt his heart skip a beat as Scourge lunged to him, claws outstretched to claw down his face. But the seasons were getting to Scourge, slowing his bones, making his joints ache. Slowing him just enough for Scorn to dodge out of the way, escaping with only a shallow cut. Scourge's eyes were wide and with fear or fury. The fur on his shoulders spiked, as did Scorn's, and the two dark-pelted toms glared at each other, eyes meeting in a clash of ocean-blue. Scourge narrowed his eyes, and then a smile spread across his face, and he quickly composed himself, sitting back in his nest of moss.

"I wouldn't tell the others," he meowed icily, his voice suddenly dripping with sadistic pleasure, "Otherwise… well, you know what would happen." Panic shot through Scorn, forcing his tail between his legs and making his legs rigid. Scourge smirked, eyes glowing in the darkness. "Yes, there we go; you remember who's in charge here. Now, go gather up some cats and crush that resistance force in the forest. Go, go on, now, and I won't do anything."

Scorn slunk out of the den, narrowing his dark eyes and standing up before disappearing from sight.

"You won't have to. I cannot lose."

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Scorn straightened up in the tunnel, smoothing down his ruffled fur and calming his nerves before making his way to a cave further down the tunnel. In BloodClan, image was as important as intelligence and power. Scorn, being taught under Scourge, was unchallenged in battling skills and was infamously known to be far more clever than average.

However, despite his cold appearance and attitude, which was popular in the Clan, he was rather disliked among them. He was detached from the rag-tag gang, often avoiding fights and, when talked too, was rather vague in his statements. Bone was more popular then he was, mainly because Bone was talkative, brash, and liked to fight.

The tunnels in front of Scorn opened up, a large cavern stretching before him, dim shapes hardly visible, even to his sharp eyes.

"Your Darkness, welcome back," greeted a big-boned guard, dipping his head to Scorn. "The slaves you ordered have completed their duties. They are being sent back to the slave compound. Is there anything else you wish to have done?" Scorn ignored the question, dark blue eyes slowly moving around the cave to where other cats, mostly toms, were lying in the shadows.

"I need…" he meowed quietly, and then spoke louder, "Anyone in the mood to kill a couple of boneheads. Meet me outside of the tunnels at the Great Rock at once. We're having a resistance purge ordered by the Leader."

And he whisked around, heading back towards the entrance of the cave. Cats from here and there among the large cavern stood and followed him, flexing their dog-teeth claws and rattling their collars of teeth and bone, jangling it to make a symphony of hollow clacks and clunks.

Most of the cats who were allowed in the tunnels were killers at soul, who had worn the dog teeth in their claws for as long as they could remember. It was here where they trained each other, fighting almost consistently during the day, their internal clocks telling them when to start and end. At night, if they grew bored, they were still allowed to call for she-cat slaves to pleasure themselves.

They were the cruelest of the cruel, the merciless murderers of BloodClan who fought without honor and respect, but for the passion of others dying in between and by their teeth.

Scourge called them his Bone Pickers.

Scorn pulled out of the tunnels and into the gray light, a dozen Bone Pickers fanning out behind him, their pelts were outlined in silver, revealing every scar from every fight in their life. Most were big and broad shouldered, one or two of them were overly wiry like those from WindClan, while others had big paws and sleek fur from feasting on fish and laying in pools of warm underground water.

They pooled around him, and from the thorn bushes, more cats joined in, a few she-cats attempting to impress one or two of the Bone Pickers or a tom attempting to gain access into the tunnels. Scorn overlooked them with a critical eye before allowing them to join his patrol. Soon the patrol was prepared, filled with almost twenty cats. It was time to move out a crush the resistance.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

"… Hey, Scorn," a voice hissed softly in his ear, and the dark tom turned around to see one of his acquaintances, one of the wiry Bone Pickers with a dark golden pelt, Thorn. He crept softly over the ground as the large patrol fanned out around them, searching for the resistance force. Scorn flicked his ear, acknowledging Thorn's presence, and the golden tom glanced warily from side to side. "Something doesn't feel right. We've been following the Originals scent for a while now; it just seems a little different right now."

Scorn stood up, flicking his tail and narrowing his eyes. He had been wondering the same thing for a while now, where was the resistance force? It was almost dawn, and Scorn had the haunting suspicion that someone had been watching him. His eyes scanned the forest, focused and crystal, searching for where an enemy could hide. Fading moonlight flickered through the dimmed canopy, leaves spiraling down from a sickened tree. The stars were winking out from the sky, and from somewhere in a nearby tree, a lark began to sing the morning a greeting. Alarm shot through Scorn realized what was going on.

"You stupid mice!" he snarled. "They're right over our heads!" And, sure enough, from the sickened tree in the distance, a handful of cats leapt down and onto the ground, their pelts cracked with mud to hide their scent. Scorn let out a hiss and unsheathed his claws, flexing them into the ground as Bone Pickers gathered from nearby, circling behind him as the small resistance force neared.

They were led by a big, dark gray tom with thick fur. His yellow eyes were bright and livid, glittering as the two of his allies paced from side to side, lean and long-limbed warriors. The gray tom's warriors tore at dry leaves with their claws, preparing for the battle to come. Scorn flicked his eyes through the ranks.

Most were well-bred toms, some with broad shoulders and firm muscles. One of them, a golden-brown tabby tom, locked eyes with Thorn, green eyes glowing as the two warriors challenged each other. The big gray tom lifted his muddied head high, staring at Scorn without blinking. The younger tom did the same, thrashing his tail.

"I am Graystar, one of the Four Leaders of the Originals. We are taking our forest back," announced the gray tom, and then he added, "Get out of this territory, it belongs to us now." Scorn blinked coyly and puffed.

"And what makes you think we're going to just hand it over to you?"

"Many claws will answer that question for you, attack!"

Scorn snarled, leaping straight at the big gray tom. Surprised by the sudden assault, the tom slipped quickly out of the way, Scorn's claws catching his shoulder as Graystar lunged for the back of his neck. Scorn slipped aside and Graystar's teeth snapped at his ear, clicking sharply. With a hiss, Scorn spun around, slashing at the tom's face and meeting his mark, scoring claws down his foes cheek.

Nearby, Thorn and the golden-brown tabby tom who had been eyeing him earlier, were locked in combat, rolling over and over in the undergrowth, knocking into battling cats from both sides. They rolled between Scorn and Graystar, bundling them apart, and Scorn took the moment to use one of his favorite tricks.

Graystar leapt around Thorn and the golden tom, hissing, prepared to meet his enemy with bared teeth and sharp claws. But, instead, the shadows of the forest stretched before him, with no sign that Scourge's apprentice had even set foot in the area. In confusion, Graystar relaxed his claws.

"This is the problem with you Originals," Scorn's voice floated through the battle, Graystar spun, attempting to locate him unsuccessfully, "You say that you can walk with the shadows, have your pawsteps become a quiet as a sleeping mouse. But that is something."

Breath tickled the back of Graystar's ear, "You must be _nothing_ in order to be great. When your mind, body, and soul are filled with darkness, when your pelt is made of the shadows, when your pawsteps make no sound, that is when you become _nothing_."

Graystar spun around again, but was greeted by the same view of the lightening forest. His fear-scent began to grow in the air, and behind him, his allies were beginning to fluster as their leader lost faith. Scorn chose to strike then.

And he struck like a thunderbolt.

Graystar crumpled to the ground, stunned by a fierce blow to the shoulder, and scrambled back up, fear-scent vanishing as he locked onto Scorn again. Scorn narrowed his eyes, and, without a hiss or snarl, rushed to Graystar again.

The gray tom whirled, ignoring the throbbing pain in his shoulder and butted towards Scorn, attempting to knock him off his feet. Like an acrobat, Scorn leaped in the air, clearing Graystar and landing softly behind him. Before Graystar could defend himself, reinforced claws flashed through the air, making a shallow gash in the other toms' neck. Graystar stumbled and Scorn saw his chance. He leapt at Graystar, catching his face and sending the leader tumbling to the ground.

The gray leader thrashed in a bitter attempt to shake off Scorn as he dug his claws deeper into his chin, hooking onto the broad jaw line and not letting go. With a triumphant yowl, he lunged down towards his throat, preparing to end his life.

A pale form blundered into Scorn's side, knocking away the BloodClan deputy and releasing Graystar. Scorn hissed, flipping in midair to land delicately on his paws. The new tom was just as old as Scorn, but bigger, with light gray fur that was almost white and sharp amber eyes.

"Are you alright?" he meowed quickly, helping Graystar to his paws, he turned, amber glare meeting Scorn. "I see BloodClan hasn't change. They're still taking lives without mercy."

Graystar struggled to his paws and then nodded to the new cat, "Thank you, Sootfur," he shook his head, "I'll leave him to you, then." The pale tom, Sootfur, nodded, and turned back to Scorn as Graystar charged off into a group of Bone Pickers.

They stood for a few moments, looking over each other. Scorn, almost unscathed from his battle with Graystar, and Sootfur, his only wounds shallow claw marks. For a moment the clearing was quiet, there was no wind, no sound, the cats around them were frozen in time, ever locked in battle. All they could see were the livid glow in each other's eyes. All they could hear was the pounding blood in their ears. All they could smell was each other, mingled with the scent of blood. They rushed together, claws raised, ready to strike each other down.

And when they struck, the world whirled.

Scorn and Sootfur spun together, both dripping from a nasty wound to the neck, both lashing out again, claws meeting claws, teeth snapping at throats. Scorn pushed Sootfur away, dancing around the larger tom, narrowly dodging a blow to the face. Scorn jumped forward, biting into his shoulder and Sootfur snarled, pushing Scorn to the ground and pinning him beneath his body, forcing him to release his grip and claw away the pale tom. The two backed away, slowly beginning to circle each other.

"You BloodClan filth!" snarled the pale tom "You killed my father. You killed my brother and my sister. Give them back. Give them back!" Scorn ignored the tom's words, watching Sootfur's movements as he went on.

"You don't know what's it's like to feel like a failure. To have your mother suckle you in carrion while you can only pray your Clanmates return to you alive. All you know is fighting, yet, when the chance of death arrives for you, you flee like mice. You don't know what it's like to fail!" Scorn let out a rage-filled snarl at the comment.

"That's because I cannot lose!" Once again, both toms lunged for each others head with their claws, and, once again, they both stuck their targets, knocking each other in opposite directions, both went limp on the battle field.

"Scorn has fallen!" yowled Thorn when he spotted the still bodies. He yowled, "Return to the Great Rock!" his eyes fell to Sootfurs closer body, and he snaped his tail towards him, "Grab him," he ordered, "Grab both of them!" A few cats swarmed over to Sootfur's body, and a moment later he was gone. But Graystar stood over Scorns, challenging any cat who came within a foxlength of the dark toms body. Thorn hesitated, then turned, vanishing with the rest of the Bone Pickers.

"They're gone, Graystar," meowed the golden-brown tabby tom, padding over to him, "They took Sootfur with them."

"That's alright, Brackenfur," murmured Graystar slowly, examining Scorn, "Sootfur was a brave warrior, and I'm sure we will see him again. In the meantime, let's take him back to camp. He may have information we need." Brackenfur nodded, and then lowered his head to grasp the dark gray tom in his jaws. The fainted mewl came from the BloodClan deputy as his teeth brushed his fur, and the slightest sliver of liquid pooled just under his eyelid. His mouth moved faintly as he breathed something in his sleep.

"I… I cannot loose…"

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

"How is he, Willowpelt?" Graystar slipped into the badger set, keeping a careful eye on the dark tom curled in the corner. He had not awakened since he was dragged back to the makeshift camp by Brackenfur, and had not even twitched a tail in his sleep. Willowpelt, now an old queen, looked up sadly to her eldest son and sighed, shaking her head.

"He is young and fierce; young and old wounds cover his body from neck to flank." She pointed them out with her paw, eyes glittering sadly, "Ever since he was a young kit, he had been submerged in the world of violence." She shook her head solemnly. "I wonder if he ever knew a mother's love." Graystar sniffed, turning to leave the den.

"I doubt he ever has."

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

**Once again, kudos to Ziro for editting this for me. You seriously kick ass.**


	3. Chapter 3

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Hey there! Got a new chapter for you, lovely, ain't it? I threw in one or two flashbacks, but you won't get much from them, oh well :P Anyways, this chapter was a bitch and a half to write, so sorry it's a little bit late. I got started on it later too. But believe me, for chapter four, i WILL start on it today. Anyways, read, review, and pick up those annoying little grammer errors. I think i missed... a lot... but that's what you'

**re for! Now, find them!**

**xx-The Breeze-xx: Yay! I'm not the only one who thinks it would be cute!**

**Feathertail's Loyalty: I think Soorfur would've gotten the same name no matter what leader he had though... and besides, I was having a brain fart :P**

**Stardream's Legacy: Here's your update!**

**Dreams of My Heart: You should read them, they're pretty good!**

**Shadowed Horizon: Yeah... I think Graystar would've made a better leader then Firestar. Um... I think the Scorn/Sooty battle can be described more as a tie, because Sootfur and Scorn were knocked out at the same time. And Sooty was trained under Graystar at the time... and of course, leaders apprentices are allllllways the strong ones XD**

**Riverheart: Nope, Sorrel died in chapter one when Speckletail was taken out, :( i wish i had let her live though, that would be interesting**

**pinkfuzzykittenz: i think they should've got more book time too... damn erins, they always have the Mary/Gary Sues as main characters...**

**Caged Bird in Demon Arms: Did you read the third one? That's the one where Catkin is introduced!**

_Name: Everlasting Darkness_

_Author: If Love Were Flowers:_

_Genre: Adventure/Drama_

_Disclaimer: I do NOT own warriors, unfortunately the erins do and their fcking up the seires_

_Summary: But Scourge is fast, faster then Firestar, and stronger. With a snarl he smashed his claw into the side of Firestar's head, sending him toppling sideways, one of his legs crumpling awkwardly beneath him and a sickening crack filling the air... What might have happened if Firestar has died in the battle between LionClan and BloodClan_

"…Well… It's pretty surprising that's he's here, you have to admit that much."

"Hush, you're going to wake him up!"

"Well I should! The lazy badger's been sleeping for two days now!"

"He's been through a rough time, cut him a bit of slack."

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Look, your big, ugly face woke him up."

"I'm going to pretend you never said that."

Scorn groaned and opened his dark blue eyes, his body weakly twitching to life. The world around him was dim and damp, the only light coming from a narrow entrance off to his right, where the songs of the morning larks trickled through with the morning sun. With a grumble he pushed himself to his paws, surprised at his own weakness, and stood up. The fur along one side of his body was tangle, weaved with moss and earth from lying in the same place for a long time, and he joints were stiff. He glanced around him dully – he was located near the entrance of a large badger set with a narrow entrance. Scorn cursed the Originals, they may be a rag-tag gang of bumbling travelers who wanted BloodClan land, but they knew how to trap a cat and imprison it.

Now he shifted his gaze to the two voices that woke him, those of a tom and she-cat. He recognized on them when he saw them, it was Oak, one of the ex-Bone Pickers who had been cast out after becoming too old. He was pale brown-gray, with white paws and a white belly. His dog-teeth claws were gone, Scorn guess that they had been taken off after he left the Bone Pickers. The other figure in the badger set belonged to a she-cat only slightly younger then Oak. She was a muddy dark brown color with yellow eyes and a slim body. He had glimpsed her every once in a while but had never formally talked to her, and usually when he saw her she was in trouble, bickering with others about prey and sleeping areas. He was surprised when she didn't wake up with a slit throat the next morning.

"It's been a while, Oak," Scorn meowed slowly to the old Bone Picker, then gray-brown tom dipped his head in respect to the near-black tom and let out a small puff of amusement. Scorn turned to the she-cat now, whose yellow eyes were fixed on Scorn sharply, judging him. Scorn was used to being judged, he was judged every day at Fourtrees, when he stepped out of his den in the morning to when he lay down and slept, consistently being monitored, constantly tested to see if he was actually the right choice to be the deputy of BloodClan. Deputy… ugh, Bone was going to have a hissy fit when he got back.

The dark she-cat looked Scorn over with a critical eye before sniffing and turning her nose away, "He doesn't look like much to me." Scorn blinked and looked over to Oak, who thrashed his tail impatiently.

"That's because you're half-blind, Rat!"

"_I'm_ half-blind? You're the one who spent half of your life in the tunnels!"

And the two began to bicker like an old mated couple. Scorn grumbled darkly, he had no time for this; he had to get out, get to know his surrounding, get free. He waved his tail at the two sharply, breaking apart their conversation and catching their attention. But before he could say anything the form of a plump, well-fed young tom entered, his dusky brown tabby fur outlined in the morning light. He flicked a tail at Scorn, ignoring Oak and the dark she-cat, "You need to come with me. Graystar told me to bring you to him right away."

Scorn tilted his head to one side, blue eyes looking the young tom up and down for a moment. The set was silent for a moment, Oak and Rat held their breaths, wondering what Scorn would do. The young tom looked Scorn strait in the eye, but his pupils trembled, and although he smelt no different then every cat outside, Scorn could feel the fear rushing through his veins. Scorn blinked slowly then lowered his head, getting to his feet. Although the tom was plump and big for a tom of his age, Scorn towered over him, dark eyes turned towards the entrance of the den.

"Well then, shall we be going to see Graystar?" He meowed coolly. A noticeable shiver ran down the spine of the brown tom, and he turned, quickly leading Scorn out of the badger set and into the morning sunlight. Scorn recognized the area almost at once, the southernmost part of the woods, almost pressed up against the fence of the Twolegplace, a small hollow shaded by ferns and protected by thick trees. It was a good place for a camp now that he thought about it, there was plenty of space to sleep and had its own built-in prison. But the only problem, for Scorn that is, was that it was far from Fourtrees. Scorn grumbled inwardly, in his condition it would take half a day to get to Fourtrees at top speed.

"This way," The brown tom flicked his tail to a dense covering of ferns and made his way over to it. Scorn didn't follow him at once, casting his dark eyes around the clearing. Lean, hungry but strong-looking cats crept around in the fern shadows, eyeing him and sizing him up. Scorn lifted his head and tail proudly, stretching the wounds on his shoulders painfully. One or two of the cats winced and looked away, while others watched with interest what would happen next. Scorn smirked inwardly. These cats wanted a show. He would give them a show. With a small hiss he flexed his lean shoulders, the old wounds from the battle a few days before within BloodClan stung and a moment later each one of them broke open, blood trickling down his leg and pooling onto the ground. Every cat who watched flinched, turning away now. Scorn snorted softly, watching as the cats turned away. His eyes then caught the still form under a far-away fern. The eyes of which were still fixed on him.

Scorn turned towards the figure in the shadows and a moment later is stood, padding into the sunlight. The clearing hushed to silence as the form of an aging queen was revealed; her muzzle tingled with white and her fur pale gray. Dark blue eyes fixed on each other, challenging each other to take a step forward. Scorn snorted, this was ridicules. He swirled around, back to the brown tom and stalked past him to the dense ferns. The tom flustered, glancing at the blood trailing from Scorns shoulder and turned away, darting into the ferns.

In the shadows of the dense ferns rested two cats, sunlight dappling their fur. Both were from the battle before, the golden tom Thorn had fought and the big gray tom Scorn himself had battled. Scorn snorted in amusement, noticing the long scratches along the jaw of the gray tom and his opposite cheek. The golden tom had a nasty-looking bite in his shoulder where Scorn assumed Thorn had bit him. Scorn pitied him for a moment; Thorn was well-known to have a nasty bite he practiced often on disobedient slaves. Looks like this tom was just one of many victims.

"That was quite a show you put on," the big gray tom meowed slowly, presumably Graystar, "Does your shoulder hurt?" Scorn scoffed softly, and, though his movements were casual, his eyes followed every movement between the leader and the golden tom, and his azure eyes sparked.

"BloodClan cats do not feel pain," Scorn said, turning his gaze from Graystar to the golden tom, who flexed his claws and narrowed his green eyes, Scorn looked down towards the bite on his shoulder purposely, and sensed the favoring of the shoulder. He rolled his eyes, "Though it seems that Original cats do. That must be why they ran away all those years ago." The golden tom hissed and tensed, preparing to leap at Scorn when Graystar flicked his tail impatiently.

"Enough, Brackenfur," he growled to the golden tom, then turned back to Scorn and spoke more calmly, "We want information on BloodClan, and we're willing to do anything for it." Scorn couldn't believe his ears, who did these cats think they were? The kings of the forest? No! Scorn dug his claws into the ground, tossing his head slightly; he would have his fun with this.

"What are the conditions?" Scorn asked smoothly, "What do I get from this?" Graystar and Brackenfur glanced at each other, started to see that Scorn was actually willing to negotiate. Brackenfur cleared his throat then, and both toms regained their reserve.

"You'll be free," Brackenfur responded slowly, as if he didn't believe his own words, "We will give you two days to make it back to your camp and regain health. After that you are subject to be caught and interrogated again." Scorn sniffed, considering the options. A shiver ran down his spine, thinking back to the day, seasons ago…

* * *

"_Stop it! No, please, Scourge don't!" panic surged through him, he struggled to reach Scourge but the older tom evaded his grasp, sending him spinning onto the moss of his nest. A cruel glimmer flashed in Scourge's eyes for a moment, betraying the inward feelings of sadistic joy._

"_You disobeyed me once, what makes you think I can trust you again?" Scourge meowed coolly, as Scorn staggered to his paws, winded by the blow that Scourge had given him, "You promised me loyalty for power, Scorn, remember that? If you're not loyal, I cannot give you power." _

"_Please, don't! You… you can't! So-" Desperation was creeping into Scorn's voice now, making the black tom even more pleasured from watching Scorn squirm beneath his grasp. Scourge tightened his grip, a dark look spreading across his face._

"_Get out! Get out of my sight you worthless bit of crowfood! And don't come back until you prove to me you can be trusted or else-" he howled, the earth and the tunnels shook, Scorn wavered, his ears ringing. Pain lanced through his back as Scourge leapt at him, slashing at him, driving him from the den._

"_Don't! Please… don't…" whispered Scorn, lowering himself onto the ground. He rested his head between he paws, a sign of obedience to Scourge, giving him free access to lunge down strait to his neck and snap the bone, the bone which held life closest in check…_

"_What will you do for me? How will you prove your loyalty?" Scourge demanded, glaring down at Scorn, "What will you do for me?"_

* * *

Scorn closed his eyes. There was still a chance. Still a chance that he hadn't done it yet. Without another word he stood in the dense ferns, startling both Brackenfur and Graystripe, and left them; heading back to the prison. There was no way he was going to tell them anything with the possibility of Scourge doing nothing. Brackenfur called out after him, as did Graystar, but Scorn ignored them, slipping back into the den. Oak and Rat pricked up as he entered, Rat's eyes flying at once to Scorns shoulder. She opened her mouth to say something when Oak flicked his tail sharply, cutting her off. With a low, serious, and soft tone, he whispered over to Scorn.

"When?"

Scorn collapsed against the side of the badger set, turning his blue eyes up to the ceiling for a moment. For a moment he almost felt like he was outside, on top of great rock. The dark midnight sky stretched as far as he could see in all directions around him. There was no moon, the stars were dim, and all he had to was close his eyes, feel the gentle brush of the night-time wind, and he would be gone…

But that was not now. Scorn looked from the ceiling to Oak, his blue eyes dark and dull with concentration.

"Tonight,"

* * *

"Spiderpaw, Shrewpaw, Whitepaw, I need you three to guard the prisoners tonight," a voice said loudly outside, Oak, Rat, and Scorn crouched in the badger set, overhearing the words spoken. The fur on the backs of Oak and Rat were bristling, but Scorn was oddly calm, and instead of feeling apprehensive and eager to get away, he wanted the moment of being trapped to last a few more seconds. He closed his eyes softly; sensing the terrified heartbeats of the three apprentices as their senior left them at the entrance of the prison, the anticipation to break free from the two prisoners at his flank. A small moth fluttering in the breeze, entering and leaving the set at will. Scorn opened his eyes, watching the silver-brown shape for a moment. More time had passed then he thought would pass in what seemed like the brief moments of peace. It was past midnight now. It was time to act. He turned to Oak and Rat and nodded.

Scorn surged forward like a bursting damn, streaking out of the den and slashing at the throat of the nearest cat, the brown tabby from the morning. Surprised by the sudden attack Scorn's claws met their mark, tearing open the throat of the brown tom and throwing him against a nearby tree. He let out a small gurgle before falling silent, and Scorn whirled around to where Rat had a small white apprentice and a black apprentice pinned to a tree. The black tom stood in front of his smaller, white clanmate bravely, though the fur through his body trembled and his eyes wavered from Scorn to Oak and then to Rat.

"Get them in the prison," hissed Scorn softly, then paused, "Not her though," he pointed his tail at the small white she-cat apprentice, "She's coming with us for right now." The black tom hissed loudly, and Rat slashed at his face, scoring her claws over his eyes. Oak then grabbed his scruff, hauling him towards the prison. At this the black tom let out a loud yowl, waking the entire camp. Scorn cursed, "Drop him and run!"

The three cats vanished into the shadows, speeding through the night as the Originals scrambled to follow. Scorn was separated from Oak and Rat; they didn't know the area as well as he did. Ferns and thorns and bushes and trees whipped past the midnight-colored tom as he weaved through expertly, as though there was a sun shining instead of the measly crescent moon overhead. Pain tore through his shoulder but he ignored it, _BloodClan cats do not feel pain_. He heart beat slowly in his chest, only focusing on the direction he was heading in as little as possible. The rest of him floated back in time, to a memory which clung to him like cobwebs.

* * *

"_What will you do for me?" Scourge glared down at Scorn, two began trembling, feeling his mind closing in around him, seeing only one option, one path to follow. With a slight hesitation he answered Scrouge, his voice steady for his fear._

"_I will do anything you will me to do, Scourge," he answered. Scourge raised an eye in interest, then narrowed his eyes._

"_Who will you be for me?"_

"_I will be anyone with will me to be."_

"_What have you done?"_

"_It doesn't matter. I do what I am willed to do by you, and you alone." A grin crept across Scourge's face and he whirled around, deep into the shadows of the den._

"_That's a good kit," he cooed, "Now, run along, and be careful," Scorn let out a loose sigh and stood up, catching only a glimpse of Scourge and his sadistic sense of humor before slipping back out into the tunnels and heading back to his own den. He was going to do what Scourge said. He was going to be who Scourge wanted him to be. He had to. He could not allow Scourge to do what he had planned to do. What he would do if Scorn ever failed again._

* * *

"I think he went this way," a shout caught his ear and Scorn swerved, heading towards the Thunderpath. A form of the pale queen from earlier and that of the black apprentice came into view. They had somehow gotten in front of him, curse he stupid wounds! He picked up the pace now, ignoring the blood that dripped down his body from almost every recent wound. The black apprentice picked up his scent then, pricking up at the sight of blood, "I found his scent!" And the chase began.

The black to was swift, Scorn had to admit that much, but Scorn himself wasn't slow either. For a while he was chased through the undergrowth by the pale queen and the black apprentice, and when the queen fell back the apprentice remained. Scorn was tiring though, he knew that he couldn't keep the pace forever, as did the black apprentice and, in a last-ditch effort to keep the prisoner of the Originals a prisoner, he darted ahead and whirled, bristling, to attack Scorn.

Scorn was used to fighting when he was exhausted though, and, using the force of his speed, blundered strait into the black tom, throwing him sideways. Blood dripped down his flanks down, down his paws, spattering out onto the ground with every step he took. Turning sharply he raced back toward the black apprentice as he staggered to his feet, knocking him over again and sending him towards a large, gray rock. With a final hiss he spun once more, charging towards the tom as fast as he could, blue eyes wide and dark with bloodlust. The black tom coward as Scorn reared up, preparing for the final blow.

A shudder ran through Scorn then and the world around him spun. A gray queen had finally caught up with them, and had thrown herself between Scorn and the black tom to defend him. Scorn found himself pushing back against the gray rock to avoid hurting her, and stumbled away, his belly churning. The queen and the black tom watched in shock as the big gray tom staggered a few steps, then heaved and vomited. They glanced at each other in confusion, and Scorn spat to the ground, a sudden cold sweat breaking out over him.

"You…" he whispered, turning around to glare at the pale queen strait in the eye. He could sense the hatred coming off of himself in waves, and knew that the queen was getting the full brunt of is, "You…" he repeated again, blue eyes opened with bloodlust, "What did you do to me?"

He already knew the answer somewhere inside but had refused to accept it. This she-cat, who fur was just as pale as the warrior from the other day and whose eyes were just as dark and as blue as Scorn's was different. She was special to him. And he knew inside that no matter what claw he used or what method he tried he would never be able to harm her. Fleeting memories from distantly ago bubbled to the surface and fear pulsed through him, memories of the warm fur, the soft scent, of the gentle tongue washing his fur. Memories he had thought so long ago to be nothing more then hopeless fantasies, side effects from growing up under the command of Scourge. They became real, they became vivid. He remembered the face from so many seasons ago. The same pale fur, the same dark eyes. It couldn't be her. She was dead. The rage that pulsed through him was replaced by cold fear.

"You…" he whispered again softly, "What did you do to me?" The pale queen and the black apprentice didn't seem to understand though, and Scorn looked towards the sky where the morning light began to break over the hills, he felt the sting of the many scratches and wounds in his flanks and let out a heavy sigh. He turned into the forest and vanished. And, though the sun was breaking high overhead and light was filling the world, in darkness he remained.

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**leh, fix those annoying little errors, and oh! Side note! Sorrel is dead!**

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	4. Chapter 4

**I am so insanely mentally physically emotionally spiritually consistantly and TERRIBLY sorry for this. This not updating that is. These last few months have been an incredible emotional journey for me in more ways then one, and i think i am now ready to continue this fanfic. I will be going through the chapters first however, and making minor edits to the story. There may be a few name changes along the way and a 'deeper' sense of things. **

**For my final few weeks of summer i will be doing as many edits as possible, to all of my storys. So far i have the following put down:**

1.** Editing all of the chapters to Everlasting Darkness**

2.** Re-writing What's a Family?**

3.** Starting a few shorter stories to help me out of a tiny little writers block. I have a few ideas. ;)**

**I will try to get this editing done tonight, actually, because I'm in the mood, and I'm working on the next chapter to this story. Be expecting a little bit of a wait for that though. I've decided i need to be more careful in my writing and editing style, and that i rush too much. Oh well. PM me or Review to this, but i'll be busy away at work. And Ziro, I'm sorry i was gone :)**


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